


Looking Away

by Lizard_Hans



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fire Nation culture, Gen, Order of the White Lotus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-29 05:20:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15066026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizard_Hans/pseuds/Lizard_Hans
Summary: During Zuko's Agni Kai, Iroh refuses to look away. Iroh does not trust his brother to be merciful.





	1. Agni Kai

**Author's Note:**

> Diverges from Zuko's Agni Kai as shown in The Storm (S1E12). Basically, what if Iroh watched Ozai burn Zuko's face and assumed that Ozai was going to kill Zuko rather than stopping at just burning him. I haven't watched most of AtLA in years, and I never got around to Korra or the comics, so some details from canon will be fudged. Expect some violence and descriptions of injuries. Expect little to no on-page sex or romance; it might be implied or discussed, but that's about it. Updates will be sporadic.

 

Iroh desperately wanted to look away.  His nephew knelt on the dueling floor, begging his father for mercy in front of a crowd of hundreds.  Iroh couldn't see his nephew's face from where he sat in the stands, but he could easily imagine his nephew's gaze in that moment.  Zuko, much like his mother had, wore his feelings on his face.  The look of desperate hope was all too easy for Iroh to imagine, and knowing his brother, something so trivial and meaningless as hope would do nothing to sway Ozai.  His brother had long thought of mercy as a weakness, Iroh used to agree.

Ozai reached toward his son's face, standing so close that his toes nearly touched his son's knees.  Seeing them face to face, Iroh could see some resemblance in their profiles, he'd never seen father and son so near to one another like this.  The turn of Ozai's nose, the edge of Zuko's jaw, the shape of their ears, when it came down to it Zuko resembled his mother far more in personality than in appearances.  The words between father and son were garbled and dull in Iroh's ears, his heartbeat thundered in his skull.  The seconds felt sluggish, more viscous than cold honey.

A slight shimmer of heat flowed over Ozai's open hand.  Iroh heard the dull crackle of flames springing to life as though they were only inches away, rather than down on the dueling field.  In the sunlight which beat down on the dueling field, the flames were nearly invisible.  Iroh's neck strained, he forced himself to keep his eyes forward, no matter how much he wanted to turn and shield his eyes.  He couldn't do that to his nephew.  

He had been the one to allow Zuko to join the war meeting, he should have known the boy couldn't hold his tongue.  He should have known better than to allow a child to listen to such talk.  Zuko didn't yet understand the sacrifices war required, Iroh should have known better, and now his nephew would be punished for Iroh's lack of forethought in front of an audience of hundreds of the nation's highest ranking civil and military officials, their families and children too.  General Wei's son Zhao sat in the row directly behind Iroh (presumably taking the place of his father who remained stationed in the Earth Kingdom), Minister Shiru sat beside Zhao with his wife, and Zuko's own sister sat beside Iroh, leaning forward to peer down at her brother and father.  It was a spectacle, and Iroh knew he could have prevented it.

Ozai was not known for his mercy, but Iroh hoped, just this once, surely his brother would act as a father before he acted as a ruler, surely his brother would not -- Ozai held fire in his hand.  Ozai held his son's face.  Zuko screamed.  Ozai was not merciful, and Iroh could see his nephew burning.  Though Iroh knew he wasn't seated close enough to the dueling field to smell it, he knew very well the smell of burning flesh.  The smell hung in the back of his throat and he felt as though the scent would never leave his breath.  His nephew was burning.

Deaths during Agni Kai were few and far between these days, save for the most serious of disagreements.  Iroh knew this better than most.  He'd fought his share of duels as a young man, he'd offended his share of minor nobility and weak-willed officers who'd inherited their posts.  Many of Iroh's opponents had scars to show for their defeat, but the worst that someone lost in those duels was a few fingers, maybe an ear.  Even disabling injuries had become rare these days, but the law still held that what happened during Agni Kai, between two consenting parties, was a matter for the gods rather than the courts.  They duelists would be judged by fire.  

Even if the courts could become involved, what court would dare punish the Fire Lord?  What court would even have the power to rule against the man who spoke for the nation?  Iroh sat frozen in his seat, mere moments had passed and his thoughts moved quickly while the crowd around him receded into the shadows at the edge of his vision.

Zuko fell back.  He'd stopped screaming, but instead made hoarse, choking noises which were somehow worse.  Ozai began to move again, and Iroh could already see the gesture his brother could make -- the gesture his brother _would_ make.  A quick snap of the wrist, an arc of fire, and his nephew dead on the dueling floor.  Iroh's mind supplied him with the images of that deadly outcome as Ozai began to shift his arm.

Iroh stood, though he didn't make any conscious decision to do so.  His limbs felt heavy, and his thoughts had, momentarily, gone silent.  A few others in the stands glanced at him, his niece remained where she sat, leaning forward as far as she could, staring intently at her brother.  He could feel fire in the air, though it seemed no one else in the crowd could feel the change.  Iroh took one step forward, slipping into a balance, stable stance, quite unlike that of traditional fire bending.  He drew his arm in a sweeping arc, a brilliant flash of light and a deafening crack followed.  

For a moment, the crowd went silent, trying to determine what had just occurred, and Iroh lowered his arm from where he pointed at his brother, two fingers extended.  Iroh leaped from the stands, pushing noblemen aside, not allowing time for the crowd to realize what he'd done.  His brother staggered slightly, and stumbled.  The air smelled of smoke, burning flesh, and the sharp scent of a recent thunderstorm.  Ozai fell. Iroh lifted his nephew in his arms and ran.

Only a few seconds passed between the flash of lightning, and Iroh hurtling through the entryway from which Ozai had walked onto the dueling field, his nephew slung over his shoulder and struggling weakly against Iroh's grip.  He had no plan.  He realized this was suicide, but what else could he have done?  Iroh couldn't watch his nephew be murdered while he did nothing.  He'd given the order that killed his son, and he would not allow his mistakes to kill another child (Lu Ten may have died an adult in age, but in Iroh's mind his son was always his child).

The guards he encountered first were running toward the dueling chamber, having heard the crack of thunder, and Iroh ran passed them in the narrow hallway without pause.  The imperial guards didn't know what had occurred, they were running toward the screaming of the crown, and they either saw no reason to stop Prince Iroh (despite the injured child he carried over his shoulder), or else they saw no reason to question Prince Iroh's actions when they still had to ensure the safety of the Fire Lord elsewhere.  Iroh kept running.  The next imperial guards he encountered came sprinting from the direction of the dueling chamber, and they shouted at him to stop.  

Even limited to one arm, while the other held Zuko in place, three imperial guards were little match for him.  Iroh didn't bother to control how much damage he caused, the palace could burn for all he cared, so long at the guards weren't able to follow him.  He turned his torso slightly, and slashed his arm from his side to behind him, training orange flames in his arm's wake.  He filled the narrow hallway behind him with fire and continued to run.  Iroh ducked into the servant's hallways, and when he heard screaming behind him he didn't stop or risk a second glance behind him.

Iroh had grown up in this palace, he knew its halls and chambers better than anyone save the servants.  As a child he'd made a game of hiding from the guards and from his tutors.  As a young man he'd snuck out of the palace many nights to wander the streets of the capital beyond the walls of the royal palace.  He ducked through a doorway to his left, and down a steep, narrow staircase.  The air grew warmer and humid, heavy with the smells of smoke, and cooking meat and vegetables.  The stairway led down into the main kitchens, a loud, hazy space with low ceilings and condensation dripping off of every surface as the ovens heated the room to a nearly unbearable state.  No one dared stop him as he charged through the kitchen.  Iroh couldn't see his own expression, but it was clearly something to behold; the cooks and kitchen staff leaped out of his way as soon as they saw him.  

The kitchen had entrances and exits secreted away from the public, for bringing food deliveries in and refuse out without being seen by the officials and ministers who flowed in and out of the palace at all hours through the beautiful, but heavily guarded cardinal gates.  Iroh turned to the entrance for deliveries, running from the kitchen out into a wide alley paved in crushed black stone.  The walls of the lower floors of the palace were plastered smooth and painted deep red, though here, in an area only servants and guards normally saw, the paint was chipped and the plaster littered with dents and gouges.  Crates of sugar, salt and various food-stuffs were stacked to either side of the alley.  Straight down the alley, the palace gave way to the high stone and metal walls which surrounded the entire palace grounds.

Two imperial guards lounged just outside the kitchen entrance, one smoking a pipe, the other picking at his fingernails with the tip of a folding knife.  These two guards had clearly not heard news of the Agni Kai yet.  Iroh didn't think as he attacked, the guard with the pipe screeched when his tunic was set alight by an arc of blue flames which Iroh called up with the swipe of his hand, fingers crooked like claws.  The other guard wore armor, and the fire splashed across the metal and fire-cloth like water off a cormorant-eel's wings, but a swift elbow to the chest sent the guard stumbling.  Iroh made a break for the palace walls, he could hear shouting and the cries of the burnt guard behind him.

The common gate in the palace walls was smaller, and less ostentatious than the cardinal gates.  Deliveries were brought in at all hours, servants and guards reported for their shifts throughout the day, and a constant stream of couriers from various ministers and officers ran through that gate day and night.  The common gate had only a few guards, who paid far more attention to those trying to get into the palace than those trying to get out.  The gate itself was thick wood with thin metal panels bolted across the boards.  

The wood and metal stood little chance against a stream of blue-hot fire, Iroh's breath was set alight and several of the guards fled their post in panic at his approach.  A strong kick broke the boards apart, and Iroh bent the flames apart to allow him to walk through while sparks and chunks of burning wood were thrown into the air around him.  

The palace guards who remained at their post demanded that he stop, but did not dare raised weapons against him, to do so against a member of the royal family was a crime that would have them executed if they were found to have acted without orders.  The news of Iroh's attack against his brother hadn't reached the common gate yet, he'd fled the dueling floor only a short few minutes ago, though the time felt far longer though Iroh's own battle-fogged perception.

The capital city had been built up around the imperial palace, and where the palace walls ended the city began without pause.  The streets were crowded, people rushed about in the early afternoon sunlight.  Men and women shopped at the small wooden stalls which lined the winding, stone-paved roads.  Hawkers shouted their wares, beggars sung ditties on street corners for a few coppers, children ran about playing games and chasing stray dogs with sticks.  

In this quarter of the city, so close to the palace walls, hundreds of paper lanterns hung from the rooftops and on ropes stretched across the streets from window to window.  It was too early in the day for the lantern-lighters to be out, but come nightfall the courtier's quarter made a beautiful sight.  

Even in one of the wealthier quarters of the city, Iroh's clothes stood out.  His rank made obvious by the embroidery on his red robes and the royal golden collar he wore.  People gave him space to pass as soon as they saw him coming, not wishing to be punished for obstructing the movements of a member of the royal family.  Their fearful eyes were on him, and Iroh could hear whispers swirling around him.  The royal family never walked the streets unaccompanied (as far as they knew).  Iroh ducked into a shop entrance, people watched with curiosity, though they looked aside under Iroh's glare and kept their distance from him.  

He set his nephew on the ground as gently as he could and shucked his outer robes, tossing the golden collar aside for some agile and greedy soul to grab once he moved on.  His inner robes, while of very fine fabric and impeccable tailoring, were black and unadorned.  Iroh wrapped Zuko in the outer robes, covering his nephew's bare chest, and somewhat shielding his nephew's face from onlookers.  Zuko has stopped moving, and if Iroh could not feel the rise and fall of Zuko's chest he might have doubted the boy yet lived.  

With Zuko covered, and Iroh's attention grabbing imperial robes turned inside out and made to look like little more than a lumpy red blanket of unusually fine silk, Iroh continued to carry his nephew over his shoulder at a fast, but much reduced pace, taking narrow alleys and hidden side streets.  Iroh knew he would not be able to outrun the imperial guards, and unless he planned to burn the entire city to the ground he needed to plan his next actions, rather than relying on speed he did not have or strength he could not afford to use.  

His lungs heaved and the pain in his legs was finally breaking through the battle-fog induced focus that had descended on his mind.  Iroh was no longer young enough for such panicked sprinting, and he'd long since learned the costs of letting one's mind slip into the fog of battle, precluding rational thought and planning.  

Iroh thought he'd long grown out of his reckless tendencies; he much preferred hiding, gathering resources, making plans, and biding his time.  Despite his preferences, here he was, fleeing through the streets of the capital after attacking his brother (Iroh cast aside the possibility that the lightning might have stopped his brother's heart, he would deal with that if it came to it), carrying his injuries and only semi-conscious nephew over his shoulders.  

Time was his only advantage at the moment, news of what had occurred in the palace would not spread instantly, he had a short time before the imperial guards informed the city guards and before news spread across the entire city, slightly longer before news spread to the rest of the nation and abroad.  

He needed to get Zuko out of the Fire Nation as quickly as possible, every second that passed made a manhunt more likely.  Iroh had commanded such hunts, years and years ago, though he'd hunted for traitors and deserters rather than members of the royal family.  Iroh knew that if he were running the manhunt he would have the ports placed under watch, all ships leaving the major ports searched, everyone entering or leaving the city gates searched, strict curfew enforcement, bringing in additional troops to supplement the city guards.  Iroh had no doubt that any half-competent commander of the city guard would do at least half of those things.  Iroh had few allies beyond the palace walls, but if he could reach them before the guards caught up to him, he and Zuko might have some chance of escape.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is like the fifth draft of this chapter, and I'm still not really happy with it. It's difficult to imagine what a character like Iroh would do in a sudden emergency, and I'm not quite sure I'm writing the right kind of voice for him. I've got some later chapters written, but I've got to go back and write all the beginning leading up to that, and they're not coming easy. Please leave reviews, comments, or criticism - I'm trying to improve here so any criticism is very welcome.


	2. Leaves and Roots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to go back to the AtLA show map for this one. I didn't remember that the Fire Nation capital was in a caldera at all. Now that I'm actually looking at the show map, I'd apparently been imagining the locations of various things entirely wrong.

Straight and level streets were a rarity in the capital.  Being built in a caldera, and atop hardened lava flows made flat terrain scarce.  

The four major boulevards of the capital radiated from the cardinal gates of the imperial palace, crossing the royal plaza and extending across much of the city.  All but one of the boulevards extended out to the steep caldera walls, ending in a wide market plaza.  

The capital city's edges extended far beyond the ends of the boulevards.  Streets became steep at they neared the caldera walls, and eventually the streets became staircases, with houses and shops built nearly on top of one another up to the caldera's rim.

The eastern boulevard, unlike the other three, extended beyond the caldera's edge.  A narrow pass had been blasted through the caldera's eastern rim during the early years of Azulon's reign to allow for direct access to a port from the capital.  

Iroh could recall the piles of blown apart volcanic stone that used to line the eastern boulevard when he was a child.  The city had yet to fill in the space between the port and the caldera back then.  

In the decades since the city had grown far larger, and more crowded.  The harbor districts had grown from a thriving fishing village to a crowded port city attached to the capital, with houses and shops built along the road connecting the two.

Iroh steered well clear of all of the major boulevards.  The roads were widest there, and the city guards' outposts were scattered along their length.  Unlike the straight, wide boulevards; the side streets of the capital were filled with twists and turns, sudden forks and dead ends.  Giving chase in the side streets was all but impossible.  

Even the most experienced of the city guards didn't know all of the routes through the capital's streets, though nor did Iroh for that matter.  It would take many lifetimes to learn all of the shortcuts throughout the city; which buildings, gardens, and basements could be used to cut between, above, or below the more traditionally trafficked streets.

Trying to escape the capital via the eastern port was the fastest, and most obvious route out of the city.  It would also be the most well guarded route.  

The city guard kept a well-manned outpost at the narrow pass between the capital caldera and the slope down to the port, along the eastern boulevard.  The port itself seethed with city guards, port authorities, and soldiers taking shore leave while their ships were anchored.

Iroh made his way south instead.

People glanced his way as he passed, Iroh wearing only his black inner-robes, carrying his nephew wrapped up in his deep red outer-robes over his shoulder.  

He couldn't hear running foot-steps or shouting following him, but Iroh kept up a quick pace, keeping his head low and making his way toward the southern quarter of the city.  

He had no particular route in mind, he hardly knew the side streets this far from the palace well enough to even begin to plan his route.  He only knew vaguely what part of the city he needed to go to in order to find allies.  

Whether those allies would be able and willing to help was an entirely separate question, and one which Iroh would deal with if it came to that.

The further south he traveled, the steeper the roads became.  The caldera rim loomed high above, its jagged edges looking almost like mountains from a distance.  Eventually the road became a staircase whose stone steps were neither level, nor the same height as one another.  

Iroh's thoughts began to wander somewhat, he kept count of his steps as though he were a young soldier again ( _one, two, three - left, right, left_ ).  Iroh had long ago learned that it helped to keep one's mind off of the steepness of their route, or how much further they had to climb.

He wished he'd had he foresight to steel a wheelbarrow, or perhaps a cart from one of those markets he rushed through some time ago.  His nephew was hardly a small child anymore, and Iroh hardly a young man.  Zuko grew heavier over his shoulder with every step.

There, on the edge of the next step was an odd shape etched into the stone.  A small circle with four triangles pointing away from its center.  It looked somewhat like a compass rose, though the sides of the triangle were bowed out.  

Iroh shook his thoughts of wheelbarrows and counting steps away, and turned right, down the nearest side street.  Exhaustion was creeping in, and the rush of fearful energy that had gotten him this far had begun to fade away.

Calling his current route a street was somewhat optimistic, it was a narrow, dirt-floored alley which smelled very strongly of rotting fish and sewage.  

The alley ended at a tall stone wall.  A dark brown cat-owl sat on top of the wall, and gave a loud shriek at Iroh's approach, before taking off and flying over the other side of the wall.  Zuko stirred slightly at the noise.

There were three doors in the alley.  A fertilizer shop with a paper sign nailed too the door, they offered to pay three coppers per pound of night-soil, and eight coppers per pound of fish entrails. Opposite the fertilizer shop was a wooden door with no sign, but an unlit lantern carved from a dry gourd hung over the door.  

Near the end of the alley stood the third door, with a white painted wooden sign nailed above it.  The sign read  _Botao's Dry Goods_ , next to the shop's name was a crudely carved flower.  

Iroh entered the shop immediately, not wishing to linger outdoors any longer than necessary.  He paused in the doorway, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dim interior.  

The wares were piled on shelves and in barrels, a thick layer of dust covered everything in sight.  

A young woman with a dour, disinterested expression sat at the front counter, a needle in one hand and a scrap of dark green fabric in the other.  Her dark hair hung over her shoulder in a long braid.

She looked up from her needle and scrap of green fabric, looking over Iroh momentarily, then turning back to her embroidery as though men in fine silk robes carrying horribly injured children were commonplace in Botao's Dry Goods.  

A sputtering oil lamp burned beside her, and yellow light tricked in through small paper covered windows at the far end of the shop.  The entire place smelled of dusty grain, mildew, and smoke.

Wedged in the corner of the shop, between barrels of barley grain and a wooden rack where strings of salted plums hung to dry, sat an old man hunched over a battered pai sho board.  Iroh approached, still catching his breath from the exertion of the last few hours.

"I apologize, I don't have time for a game." Iroh laid his nephew on the floor, and unwrapped his red outer robes from around Zuko.  

Zuko's uninjured eye opened slightly, but his head lolled and his gaze did not settle anywhere.  His burns were wet and waxy looking, and while the swelling was minimal at the moment, Iroh suspected it would get far worse very soon.

The old man's expression did not change at the sight of imperial robes, the gold decorations and embroidered symbols of rank obvious and in full view.  Iroh rifled around in his outer-robes for a moment, and pulled a single pai sho tile from an inner pocket.  

He set the tile in the center of the board.  The old man stared at the white lotus tile in silence.

"Please, I require assistance."  Iroh said.

The old man slowly looked from the pai sho table up to Iroh's face, as though even that movement took enormous effort.  Iroh did not look away from the old man's gaze.

"What is not seen beneath the spreading leaves?" the old man asked in a low, creaking voice.

"The tendrils of the lotus root that grows." Iroh responded in a clipped tone, hoping desperately that this would work.  

The old man behind the pai who table stood, and gestured for Iroh to follow.  Iroh held his nephew to his chest, arms shaking somewhat, both Zuko's weight and Iroh's recent actions taking their toll on his strength.

The old man led Iroh behind the counter, the woman at the counter pushed her chair out of their way slightly to allow them to pass, but otherwise gave no indication of having noticed them at all.  The old man led the way behind a dingy curtain, and into the back room.  

Boxes and barrels filled the room, piled high against the walls.  A fraying straw mat lay on the floor.  The old man kicked the straw mat out of the way, revealing a trap door set into the wooden floor, which opened with a quiet scraping sound.

They descended a cramped staircase, which led down into a small basement room.  An oil lamp hung on the wall closest to the staircase, and the old man lit it with a flicker of orange fire from his fingertip.  Iroh adjusted his assessment of the old man at the casual show of fire bending.

The walls and floor were smooth stone.  A long table, a cabinet, a chair, and shelves sagging under the weight of countless scrolls, bottles, boxes, and assorted objects were the only furniture in the room.

"Place him on the table" the old man said, reaching toward a high shelf and grabbing several small bottles and a box of clean bandages.

"Do you know how to use these?" the old man asked, handing several of the bottles to Iroh before Iroh could respond.  

Iroh squinted at the paper labels tied to each bottle.  He was familiar enough with their contents, as any fire bender of his age ought to be, but he'd more often been the one being treated for burns rather than the one providing treatment. 

The old man shook his head, looking vaguely disappointed, and took the bottles.  He lifted a bucket of water from under the table, and filled a cup with water.  

The old man pried open one of the bottles, and carefully let four drops of the thick syrup fall into the cup.  Iroh picked up the bottle as soon as the old man set it aside, and read the label while the old man coaxed Zuko to drink.  

It was poppy syrup.  Iroh did not object, but assured himself that the old man would not act so confidently if he were not experienced with this particular substance.  Iroh watched Zuko's breathing.  

He'd been told by the palace physicians when Lu Ten was very young to avoid giving poppy syrup to children.  It was all too easy to give just a little too much, and return in the morning to find that the child had ceased breathing in their sleep.  

The old man and Iroh watched in silence for several minutes, then the old man set to work again.

"Clean the wound." the old man said, handing a clean cloth to Iroh.  Zuko did not stir as Iroh dipped the cloth in the bucket, and dabbed at the burn.

Once the burn was cleaned, the old man mixed the contents of several of the bottles in a cup, and spread the resulting paste over the burn.  

Iroh knew the uses of some of the ingredients.  One reduced swelling, one cooled burns, one helped to prevent liquid from collecting beneath the skin, but the healing properties of the remainder were unknown to him beyond their use on burns and wounds.

"Will he lose sight in that eye?"  Iroh asked while the old man carefully smeared the paste around, but not in Zuko's eye which was surrounded by burnt skin. 

"Wait and see." the old man said, with a coughing bark of laughter.  Iroh merely frowned, finding the joke in poor taste.  It would not do any good to antagonize his host, not right now.  

Iroh tried to sit down and relax as best he could, but he could not take his eyes off of his nephew, and the old man's medical treatment.

"How soon can he be moved?"  Iroh asked.  He'd already moved Zuko plenty today, but that didn't mean it was good for Zuko's injuries.  

The swelling hadn't fully set in yet, and Iroh imagined that things would get worse once the poppy syrup wore off, and Zuko awoke from the state of shocked semi-consciousness he'd lapsed into shortly after the Agni Kai.

"Tonight, you leave by the start of middle watch."  The old man said.

"After curfew?"  Iroh asked, somewhat dubious.  

The city gates would be closed at that hour, the guards would be patrolling the streets searching for curfew breakers on any normal night.   There was little doubt there's be search parties combing the streets throughout the night after what Iroh did today.

"Yes." The old man finished wrapping Zuko's burns in fresh bandages, and that was that.  He returned the bottles to their shelves.  "Stay silent, do not leave until I return." the old man said, and climbed back up the stairs they'd come down.

Iroh remained in the basement, with Zuko unconscious on the table beside him, and only a flickering oil lamp for light.  

The trapdoor above closed with a quiet thud.

In the dim light, Iroh examined the room.  The stone walls and floor had no tooling marks.

 

 

* * *

 

Zuko began to wake up some hours after the old man left.  Iroh did not trust himself to give the correct dosage of poppy syrup to quiet Zuko if he was unable to remain quiet due to the pain.

Zuko opened one eye, the other eye remained covered by bandages.  There were no pained noises or tears, Zuko looked confused rather than afraid or suffering.  He slowly lifted a hand to the bandages on the side of his face.

"Nephew, do not remove your bandages."  Iroh cautioned, leaning forward to place a reassuring hand on his nephew's shoulder.  

Zuko's eye flickered in his direction, he continued to feel along the edges of the bandages.

"Uncle?"  Zuko asked, his voice quiet and scratchy.  "What?"

"What do you remember?"  Iroh asked.  Zuko blinked up at him in confusion.

"I-" Zuko paused, eyes darting around, "Where is this?" Zuko asked, the words coming to him slowly.  Iroh squeezed his shoulder.

"Do not worry, we will be safe here nephew."  Iroh assured him.  "Are you in pain?"  

Zuko, though he was awake, had clearly not entirely burned the poppy syrup from his system.  Iroh wished to make sure his nephew wasn't suffering at the moment.

"No."  Zuko began to pick at the edges of his bandages, and Iroh quickly pulled Zuko's hand away from the bandages.  "Why?"  Zuko asked in mild confusion.

"You were injured."  Iroh explained, but he could already see Zuko drifting off again, his eye barely remaining open.  "You fought an Angi Kai, do you remember nephew?" he asked, but Zuko did not answer.

 

 

* * *

 

 When the old man returned much later in the night, he came bearing two bowls of rice and vegetables with chili sauce.  

"Has he woken up?" the old man asked, passing a bowl and chopsticks to Iroh.

"Thank you." Iroh said, taking the bowl, "He woke up briefly, but he sounded confused."

The old man nodded, and set the second bowl on the edge of the table next to Zuko.  The clay bowl hit the wooden table with a sharp clank.

Zuko started slightly, and his uncovered eye opened.  He lay on his side, and gazed up at the old man.

"Your bandages need to be changed, can you sit still without being drugged?"  the old man asked, not bothering to introduce himself or calm Zuko at all.

"He's a friend." Iroh added, hoping to make Zuko more trusting of the medical treatment.  

The old man helped Zuko sit up, his back against the stone wall.  He slowly unwrapped the bandaged from around the side of Zuko's face, for all his blunt attitude he'd been nothing but gentle in giving medical treatment.  

The burn hadn't swollen nearly as much as Iroh expected.  The skin appeared pale and waxen, though the edges of the burn had the blistered redden flesh Iroh expected of a burn.

"He burned me."  Zuko spoke slowly and thoughtfully.  

The old man picked up a damp cloth and began to wipe off the paste that had dried onto the burn since earlier that afternoon.  Zuko's burned eye did not open, and as the old man cleaned the burn Zuko closed his other eye, looking quite disturbed by the sight.  

Despite his surroundings, Iroh was very hungry, and he had certainly never let wounds (his or otherwise) dampen his appetite.  He certainly needed the energy.

It wasn't until the old man began to clean the edges of the burn that Zuko hissed in pain.

"What happened?"  Zuko asked as Iroh took another large bite of rice and vegetables.  

The old man glanced between Zuko and Iroh, but turned back to his work concocting more burn paste, ignoring Zuko's question altogether.

"Ah, well, your father is quite-" Iroh hadn't quite thought through how to answer this sort of question.  He'd spent the past four years carefully veiling his more critical thoughts on his brother, the royal family had to appear united before the nation.  

"He is not a forgiving man."  Iroh said.  Judging by Zuko's stare, both of them realized just how unsatisfactory this answer was.

"No talking, sit still." the old man instructed Zuko, preparing to re-apply the paste and bandages.  

Again, Zuko flinched while the old man probed the edges of the burn, but when the main area of the burn was handled he remained still, eyes closed, but making no sound.

Zuko was given a few minutes to eat while the old man rifled through the crowded shelves.  After a few bites, Zuko set the bowl aside, looking like his face had gone entirely bloodless.

"Nephew?" 

"Give me a moment." Zuko bit out, looking quite ill.  The old man retrieved additional fresh bandages, and several small bottles, which he placed in a cloth bag.

"This will last several days, change the bandages twice each day, and mix equal parts from each bottle with one part water for the burn salve."  the old man instructed, passing the bag to Iroh.  

The old man stepped across the room, where the closed cabinets stood against the far wall.  He rubbed his hands together, and then gave the end of the cabinets a push, putting his entire weight into it.  

The cabinets slid aside, sending dust into the air.  Behind the cabinets was not a stone wall, but dark space, a tunnel carved into the black stone.  

When the cabinets had been pushed aside far enough that a grown man could squeeze into the space behind by turning sideways, the old man stopped, panting slightly at the exertion.  

The tunnel had no tooling marks, and the jagged, uneven surface looked natural rather than like it had been carved.  A cool, damp breeze came from the tunnel, hinting at a much larger space somewhere inside.

"Lava tubes?"  Iroh asked, somewhat disbelieving.  

He'd known there were lava tubes in the caldera.  Even Zuko had known that, seeing as the royal family used them to store valuables, family records, and even to hide in should the city come under attack.  But it had long been thought that the only lava tubes in the area were those which the imperial guard had mapped and patrolled, those which were under the control of the imperial palace.

The old man smiled, showing a mouth of yellowed teeth,

"Our lord and the golden guard don't know everything that lies beneath their feet,"  he said.

"No, I suppose they don't."  Iroh could only imagine what might happen if the Fire Nation's enemies were to learn of this.  

Iroh may have broken with his brother, and he had no doubt he would be declared a traitor if he had no already, but the safety of his nation's largest city was still quite dear to him.  

"And this will take us to safety?" he asked.

"Yes, yes." the old man said, "Do you need a lantern?"  Iroh rolled his wrist slightly, and inhaled, drawing up a small, controlled flame in his palm.  The old man only nodded, and helped Zuko off the table.  Zuko stood, swaying slightly, but he did not fall.

"Is the route marked?" Iroh asked.

"No need, keep to the right.  You will hear water, continue along the river when you reach it.  When the tunnel ends, continue to follow the river.  Wait at the stone weir, a man will meet you there.  He will know the words."  the old man explained.

"What words?" Zuko asked, walking toward them somewhat unsteady on his feet.  

The old man glanced from Iroh to Zuko and back, looking at Iroh to answer this.

"Do not concern yourself Zuko, I will take care of that."  Iroh assured him.  Zuko looked ready to argue, but instead leaned heavily against the wall looking as exhausted as Iroh felt.

"Be careful."  the old man advised.

"Thank you for everything you've given us." the old man waved away Iroh's gratitude,

"Hurry, your contact will wait no longer than sunrise."

Iroh tucked the box of bandages and medicines beneath his arm, and tried to take Zuko by the arm to ensure that his nephew didn't stumble.  

"Uncle." Zuko complained, and though he lacked his usual snappish frustration as he weakly pried his arm out of Iroh's grip, Iroh was glad to see something of his nephew's personality shining through.

Zuko drew up a small flame in his palm, weaker than the one which Iroh held, and stepped into the tunnel.  Iroh bowed his head one last time to the old man, and followed close behind his nephew, ready to catch Zuko if he fell or became ill.  

Behind them, the old man pushed the cabinet back into place in front of the tunnel entrance.  The only light came from the flames each of them held.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This entire chapter was like half a page in my draft, but once I got around to rewriting it it just kind of blew up. I'm a sucker for city descriptions, secret societies, and fugitive stories.


	3. By the Sea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was going to be the last chapter following Zuko and Iroh for the time being, but things spun out of control a bit, and there's probably one or two more chapters following Zuko and Iroh before switching to different characters for awhile.

Zuko was confused, and unwilling to admit it.  Something had gone wrong.  He knew he'd missed something, but his mind felt sluggish and the nausea become worse when his focus drifted away from his current task.  

Thinking about much more than putting one foot in front of the other was a bit beyond him at the moment.  

Despite his best efforts he wasn't able to walk in a straight line for long, and his limbs felt heavy and clumsy.  

His head hurt, Zuko had hundreds of questions to ask Uncle, but the words just weren't there.  It was difficult enough to keep his mind divided between walking, watching where he stepped, and feeding the small fire that he held in his hand.

Uncle called the tunnel a lava tube, but Zuko couldn't quite keep up with the details of Uncle's commentary on the rock formations they passed.  The words sounded garbled, and Uncle had to repeat himself three or four times before Zuko fully processed that the question was directed at him.

"Nephew, are you alright?"  It took Zuko several seconds to pick apart the words.

  
"Yes." he answered, though he felt far from alright.

"Nephew, your fire."  Uncle warned.  Zuko glanced down, the fire in his hands had, indeed, gone out.  Zuko readier himself to draw up another flame, but Uncle's had on his shoulder gave him pause.  "You are injured, do not overexert yourself."  Uncle advised.

The fire Uncle held in his hand grew larger, and bright enough to light the way for both of them.

Zuko hadn't thought about his injury.  He hadn't forgotten it, but it had slipped form his mind.  Zuko wanted to be angry at his inability to think properly.  He knew he should be angry, but everything felt dull and muted, and the emotions fell away into the droning buzz which filled his head.

He opened his mouth to ask Uncle what had happened, how he'd been injured.  He knew he'd asked this before, the answer felt just out of reach.  Zuko closed his mouth and continued walking ins silence, just a couple paces ahead of Uncle.  

With Uncle's fire behind him, Zuko cast a long, dark shadow across the tunnel floor ahead.

He'd been burned.  That's what Uncle said in that place they'd been before they walked into the tunnel.  Zuko couldn't quite remember, they'd been somewhere underground?  There weren't windows, or Zuko couldn't recall any windows.  There's been someone with Uncle, it felt blurred though.

Uncle had probably explained it all at some point, Zuko struggled to recall the details.

He stumbled over a jagged bit of stone, and nearly fell.  Uncle grabbed his upper arm, keeping him upright.

"I'm fine."  Zuko weakly pulled his arm away from Uncle's grasp.  Uncle let go, and Zuko focused on walking, he couldn't afford to get distracted again.

Shadows looked like the edges of the rocks, and the bumps and ridges in the tunnel floored looked like shadows.  He couldn't tell whether whatever was wrong with his head was causing him to have so much trouble, or whether it was because one of his eyes remained covered.

They walked in silence for what felt, to Zuko, like a very long time.  The distant whisper of water grew into a muffled roar that filled the tunnel.  Eventually the tunnel opened slightly, water gushed from a crevice and ran along a smooth culvert along the opposite side of the tunnel, carved by decades (if not centuries) of passing water.

The firelight from Uncle's hand glinted off the rushing water.  Uncle insisted on keeping a hand on Zuko's shoulder after the tunnel joined the river.  Zuko wanted to object that he wouldn't fall, but he'd stumbled and tripped enough times already to know that he couldn't trust his own balance at the moment.

A brief flare of frustration bloomed in his head.  The emotion quickly dissipated, pain shot through Zuko's head with every step, and his body felt sluggish with exhaustion.

"Can we rest?" Zuko asked.  He only needed a few minutes, he just needed to sit down for a bit, maybe close his eye.

"Not yet nephew." Uncle said, sounding quite tired as well.  Usually, Uncle would be the one advising Zuko to take frequent breaks and conserve his energy.

As they continued walking, Zuko's thoughts began to drift again.  Uncle gave his shoulder a queen when he began to wobble or walk nearer to the river's edge.  The dry portion of the tunnel had grown narrow, the water sped over harder lava within arms' reach.

He'd been burned.  Zuko focused on that thought, he'd been burned, and now he couldn't feel the side of his face.  It felt like the flesh was just gone, and his stomach turned at that thought.  

A strange man had changed his bandages, and before that Zuko had woken up and Uncle was there, and before that -- he wasn't sure.  

Zuko's thoughts circled round and round, trying to reassemble events in order.  Zuko stopped walking.  Uncle nearly walked into his back.  There was a dueling hall.  Sunlight.

Fear cut through the numbness in his head like a dagger.

He stood in the dueling hall, bare feet on the warm floor.

Uncle shook his shoulder, speaking urgently.  Zuko didn't understand.

He cast off his cape, letting it fall to the ground.  This was tradition.  

Uncle turned Zuko to face him, continuing to speak.

Uncle's fire had gone out, Zuko could see nothing in the dark.

Zuko could see his opponent standing in the shadows on the opposite end of the field.

Uncle's tone grew frantic.  The words remained unrecognizable.

He turned, the banner overhead fluttered.

Hundred of eyes focused on him.

His opponent turned.

Uncle shook him by the shoulders.

He felt the jagged stone beneath his knees.

He felt the painted slate beneath his knees.

Uncle held him, arms wrapped around him in a tight hug.  Zuko couldn't breath, his chest and neck felt tight and painful, his face felt damp.

"You're safe, you're safe." Uncle repeated quietly, barely audible over the sound of the river.

"Let go of me."  Zuko gasped, and only after several seconds did Uncle's grip loosen.  Uncle leaned back.  A fire sprang to life in Uncle's right hand, pushing back the darkness somewhat.

Uncle sat, crouching on his heels.  Zuko knelt on the tunnel floor, the lava stone digging painfully into his knees.

"Can you stand?" Uncle asked, the concern in his voice obvious.  Zuko tried to control his breathing, and nodded quickly.  Uncle stood, and offered a hand to pull Zuko up.  "We must keep moving."  Uncle said, regretfully, as he pulled Zuko to his feet.

"Father-" Zuko began, "He, he," Zuko wasn't sure what to say.  He growled in frustration, but the expression pulled at the bandages on his face painfully.

"Now is not the time nephew, we can speak about this later." Uncle said, prodding Zuko forward.  A scream caught in Zuko's throat, he lungs felt constricted, his breathing too shallow and too fast.  He clenched his hands and kept walking, trying desperately to control himself.  

Zuko couldn't imagine breaking down like this in front of anyone but Uncle, what would Azula say about this?  What would Father-Zuko pushed that thought away immediately, he couldn't think about that, red dots danced in the edges of his vision.

He needed answers, but he needed to be able to speak without choking on his words before he could demand those answers.

The lava tube sloped gently downward.  In places, the walls dripped and glittered in the firelight.  They walked headlong into a slow, warm breeze.  The air smelled of wet dirt and salt.  

Uncle's fire lit the tunnel only a short ways ahead of them, and the darkness closed in immediately behind them.

They walked slowly, and the only sounds were the river, and the occasional shuddering gasp as Zuko tried to force his breathing to slow.  Uncle's hand remained heavy on his shoulder.  Eventually, only the sound of rushing water remained.

Without warning, they were walking in rocky mud.  The tunnel roof gave way to a wide, black sky.  The river sped past, the sound of water tumbling over stone drowning out any other nighttime sounds (insects chirping, leaves stirring in the wind).  

Uncle paused, looking around, his face lit from below by firelight.  Zuko glanced all around, squinting into the darkness with his good eye.  The jagged line of the caldera's edge loomed high above them, a slightly darker shape against the night sky.

"Now we must find the weir.  It can't be far."  Uncle assured him, the fire in his palm growing larger and brighter.  Zuko could faintly make out tree trunks, boulders, and rock outcroppings rising out of the darkness.

The walk became more difficult.  Where the river had been relatively straight and the ground solid stone in the lava tube, the river now took a serpentine course and the ground became muddy and rock-stewn.  Broken-up lava stone littered the ground, ranging in size from small pebbles to boulders larger than a house which the river flowed around.

Tall grasses and brambles encroached in on the river's banks.  The current pushed the reed stalks in the water back and forth, making a rasping noise like an old scroll being rolled.

Uncle slipped ahead, trampling a path through the underbrush which Zuko could follow in.  In places, he sunk deeper than his ankles in mud.  

The grasses brushed his legs as he walked, and Zuko picked a few seeds off of the taller stalks as they trailed between his fingers.  Moths and small bugs fluttered around Uncle's fire, throwing themselves into the flames with quiet pops.

 

* * *

 

 

The river widened, and the rapids calmed.  Uncle noticed the weir first; Zuko's mind remained preoccupied with keeping his footing in the mud despite his pounding headache.

The weir wasn't large, or particularly well constructed.  It was little more than a stone damn build across a narrow portion of the river, where the banks became steep.  

Water flowed through a notch cut into the center of the weir, leaving the river upstream of the weir flooded over its old banks to form a wide, relatively calm reservoir.

"How are you feeling?" Uncle asked once they came to a stop alongside the weir.

"Fine Uncle." Zuko lied, sitting down on the edge of the weir.  The stones were mossy and slightly damp, but Zuko didn't have anywhere near enough energy to care about getting his clothes a bit wet.  

His legs from the knees down were already caked in mud.  Zuko noted, with no small amount of envy, that Uncle had managed to confine the mud to his feet alone, whereas Zuko had seemingly been sucked into the ground with every step.

Uncle leaned against the trunk of a nearby pine tree, still maintaining the fire in his hand.  The eastern sky had taken on a grayish tinge, and some pre-dawn birds were beginning to chirp and screech.

They rested only a few minutes.  From the darkness, someone cleared their throat.  

The fire in Uncle's hand flared to almost three times its previous height.  Uncle pushed himself away from the tree, slipping into a bending stance, eyes scanning his immediate surroundings.  

Zuko scrambled to his feet far less gracefully, and immediately regretted it.  A wave of dizziness and nausea rolled over him.  Rather than leaping into a fighting stance, Zuko ended up hunched over slightly, sweeping his eyes closed and trying to keep what little he'd eaten or drunk in recent hours down.

"Show yourself."  Uncle barked, swiping his free hand across the hand which held the fire, splitting the fire between both hands.

"Please, calm down, calm down."  A man stepped out of the underbrush across the river, faintly visible in the firelight.  He moved silently, holding his empty hands out to his sides.  "No need to set anything on fire old man, just let me explain."  

"Speak quickly."  Uncle did not drop from his stance, or allow his fires to weaken.  The man across the river sighed.

"Right."  he began, "I'm just a simple hunter, searching these winding creeks and valleys low."  he annunciated every word very clearly, and stepped closer to the riverbank.  Uncle relaxed minutely.

"And is this the season of your quarry's blooming?" Uncle asked.  Zuko frowned, hating that he was obviously being left out of something, though he wasn't quite sure what.  

"I suppose so."  The man across the river lowered his hands, and began to walk across the river, balancing on the top of the weir.  Uncle made no move to fight the man off, or prevent his crossing.  "This is certainly more action than we usually see around here."

He hopped off the top of the weir, landing with a quiet thud between Uncle and Zuko.  Up close, his features were clear.  He looked quite bland, with short, shaggy hair, and the tunic and trousers of a commoner.  He was rather tall, but lacked an overly muscular build.  

Zuko thought he might be the same age as Lu Ten would have been.

"You are our contact?" Uncle asked.  The man gave Uncle a brief, wide smile, and a small, theatrical bow.

It was nothing like the bows that were supposed to be offered to members of the royal family.  Zuko tried to scowl at the disrespectful parody, but only succeeded in pulling at his pandas in a painful way.

"That I am.  Tingbi at your service." he introduced, "My father-in-law mentioned that one of you might need some medical attention?"

"My nephew." Uncle said, stepping closer to Zuko.  He held up the fire slightly to illuminate Zuko's face.  Zuko used this opportunity to give this stranger, Tingbi, a look which properly conveyed his displeasure at this entire situation.

"Whoa little guy, are you doing alright?  You're not looking so good." Tingbi said, his concern seeming genuine.

"What did you just call-" Zuko began, voice somewhat scratchy, but Uncle interrupted.

"My nephew is very tired, but we were given adequate medical supplies." Uncle patted the bundle of bandages and bottles of medicine that he'd tucked under his belt.  "Courtesy of your father-in-law I believe, we owe him our gratitude."  Uncle continued.  

Zuko tried to glare at Uncle, but the dizziness returned with a vengeance.

"No worries, from the sound of it you two need all the help you can get."  Tingbi waved off Uncle's gratitude.  Zuko knew that in any other circumstances the gratitude of the Fire Lord's brother would never be taken so lightly, or, worse yet, not accepted.

"My house is an hour's walk from here." Tingbi said, looking up at the sky, "If we leave now we can get there before sunrise, probably."

Tingbi led the way, showing them to a small path trodden through the grassy woodlands.

"You need a hand?" Tingbi asked, seeing that Zuko was falling behind him and Uncle.

"I'm fine." Zuko said, and Uncle gestured at Tingbi to let him be.  Tingbi looked slightly worried, but continued walking, only to offer again a short time later.

The trail led them to a dirt road with deep cart-wheel ruts dug into the mud.  Uncle continued to carry a flame, but Tingbi neither bent fire, nor carried a lantern or torch.  Zuko trailed some ways behind Uncle and Tingbi, who were chatting amicably as they walked.  

Zuko only heard bits and pieces of their discussion.  Tingbi spoke about his incredibly wonderful wife, Uncle nodded along and occasionally said something in agreement.

The forest thinned, leaving wide, grassy meadows and sandy patches of bare soil. Stunted, wind-blown pine trees grew here and there, surrounded by patches of brambles, but the landscape became increasingly barren.

"Hear that?" Tingbi asked, stopping in the middle of the road.  Uncle cocked his head slightly.

"You must live very close to the sea." Uncle commented.  Zuko could hear a few birds, and the squelching of his own footsteps in the mud, but nothing else.

Tingbi led them to a path which branched off of the road, zig-zagging up and over a grassy hill.  Tingbi warned them where roots and large stones were as they climbed the hill.  Zuko only tripped a few times.

From the top of the hill, Zuko could hear gulls, and the distant crash of water against rock.  The sky looked like slate, with the pale-yellow sunrise creeping into the eastern sky.

Below the hill lay a flat meadow, where two buildings sat.  Light streamed from the open door of the smaller of the two buildings, while the larger of the two remained dark.

"Tingbi?" A woman's voice cried at they made their way down the hill.  Zuko and Uncle made their way along the path at a low, cautious pace.  Tingbi took off running as soon as he heard the woman's voice, leaping down the hill like some kind of goat-deer in the near darkness.

By the time Zuko finally arrived at the house, Tingbi stood in the doorway, his arm wrapped around the shoulders of the woman next to him.

"Ah, and here comes my nephew." Uncle had arrived well ahead of Zuko.  "Nephew, this is Baiji."  Uncle introduced.  The woman smiled.  She was short and round faced, with dark eyes and long hair.

"My beautiful wife." Tingbi added, smiling at Baiji, who ducked her head, shaking with laughter.

"He's too kind."  Baiji said.  "Please, come inside.  Any friends of my father's are welcome in my house."  She dragged Tingbi inside.

"Your kindness is much appreciated." Uncle said as he followed them inside, his hand lingered on the floral carvings which decorated the wooden door frame.

Zuko followed last.

The main room was cramped, and a bit too warm for comfort.  The smell of cooking fish filled the air.  Every open space in the room was filled, every available surfaced covered in a mixture of scrolls, ink brushes, and fishing nets in various states of repair.  

Bunches of drying herbs, fishing roles, net floats, salted fish, and a huge array of other miscellaneous objects hunt from the rafters.  Sealed pots of ale, wine, and vinegar were stacked next to the door.  

Several lanterns were scattered throughout the room, bathing everything in an orange glow.

Baiji showed Uncle to a low wooden couch.

"Please, sit down, rest.  You must be exhausted.  I can't believe Father sent you from the capital in so early in the morning." Baiji said.

Zuko lingered just inside the door, unsure of what to do.  He'd never been invited into someone else's home before.

He'd been in many homes, of course, but all of them belonged to his family.  The various estates, summer homes, country homes, and such that the royal family owned were very different than a home that other people actually lived in. 

Tingbi and Baiji's home was smaller than any Zuko had been in before, and dirtier too.  Everything in the house looked worn down, there wasn't a single corner of the room that didn't look completely lived in.

Zuko fidgeted, not entirely comfortable being in someone else's home.  Should he just sit down anywhere?  Could he ask for water?  Could he move thins aside to make room to sit down at the table?  Zuko hadn't the slightest idea.

"Hey kid, relax."  Tingbi called from the corner of the room, by the fireplace.  "Are you hungry?" A large pot hung over glowing embers.  "Sweetie, is the stew ready?"

"If it's not just call it soup and eat it anyway." Baiji said, making sure that Uncle was seated comfortably.

"I'm not hungry."  Zuko wasn't sure he'd be able to keep anything down.

"Nephew, have a seat." Uncle said, waving Zuko over to the couch.  He scooted over to make some space.  Zuko sat down on the very edge of the couch.

Unlike the couches back home, this one was little more than a low table with a straw-filled cushion laid over the hard surface.  It wasn't particularly comfortable.

"The stew smells delicious, you must be a very skilled cook." Uncle said, and Baiji gave a somewhat embarrassed smile, ladling thin stew into bowls.

"At least try some first, then tell me what you think of my cooking."  Baiji said, handing Iroh a bowl.

Tingbi put a pot of water over the embers, and dug out a box of dry tea from the cupboard.  Uncle and Baiji spoke about cooking in between bites of stew, and soon enough they were laughing together.  Zuko sat stiffly on the couch, letting the conversation wash over him.

His thoughts kept circling back to his father standing over him on the dueling field, but also his father holding his mother's hand while they danced at the New Year's dinner years and years ago, and his father watching him and Azula sparring underneath a flower-filled tree in a courtyard.  

Zuko didn't understand, and the more he thought about it, the more his head hurt.  Something hot and painful coiled in his chest.

"Hey little guy," Tingbi said, snapping Zuko back to the present.  Uncle and Baiji were both looking at him in concern, and Tingbi held a steaming cup in his hands. "You went somewhere else for a minute there." Tingbi said, holding out the cup.  "Tea's supposed to help that sort of thing, I think."

"Tea has many healing properties." Uncle agreed, sounding quite pleased to have found someone who shared such views.

Zuko took the cup, feeling the warmth leeching into his hands.  Tingbi filled more cups of tea and passed them around until everyone in the room held a cup.

The tea tasted bitter and piney.  Uncle got a pinched look on his face when he took his first sip, but steeled himself and continued drinking, even complementing Tingbi's brewing skills.  Zuko didn't think it tasted any worse than any other tea.  Baiji placed a small bowl of stew beside Zuko.

"You look like you need it." She said, not giving him the chance to refuse.

Zuko took small sips of tea, and occasionally a bite of stew.  The stew tasted like fish, and was very salty.  Uncle sat next to him, getting into a lengthy discussion of the intricacies of the fishing industry with Baiji and Tingbi, though Uncle mostly asked questions and listened closely to their lengthy explanations.  

The house was very warm, and Zuko very tired.

He hardly noticed as he tilted over, leaning against Uncle.  He fell asleep soon after.

 

* * *

 

 

"No need to wake up Zuko.  I'll be done in a moment." Uncle said.  There was a hand against his face, tilting his jaw.  He heard cloth moving.  Zuko blinked momentarily, barely awake.  Sunlight streamed into the room.  Zuko could feel the sun's fires urging him to get up, but his body felt heavy and full of straw.  Fingers against the edges of the bandages portion of his face hurt momentarily.  Something was tied around his head.  Soon enough, Zuko slipped back into his slumber.

 

* * *

 

 

When Zuko next woke up, he lay curled up on the couch.  Someone had placed a blanket over him.  A pair of green eyes stared at him, mere inches away from his own.

Zuko flung himself back, hitting the back of his head against the wall behind him with a loud bang.  He drew fire to his fingertips on reflex.

"Mommy, he's awake!"  A shrill voice shouted.  Zuko let go of the flames before they could become anything more than a wisp of smoke.  

A girl, at least five or six years younger than Azula, stood in front of the couch, watching him intently.  Her hair was tied back in two buns that resembled a platypus-bear's ears.

"Don't be rude Haiwen, introduce yourself." Baiji shouted from another room.

"My name is Haiwen, who are you?" she asked, and continued on without giving Zuko time to answer, "You've been sleeping all day.  Mommy said you were up past your bed-time, are you going to get in trouble?" Haiwen asked, pinning Zuko with a look of total command that Zuko had always thought was unique to Azula.  

Apparently Azula was hardly the only child who expected her demands to be met immediately.

"What did I say about being rude Haiwen." Baiji said, walking into the room with an armful of clothes.  She turned to Zuko, giving him a strange look that Zuko didn't understand. "Li isn't going to get in trouble."

"My name isn't-" Zuko began to object.  Baiji gave him that strange look again, and dropped the clothes on the couch next to him.

" _Li_ ," She annunciated, "is older than you, so he gets to stay up later than you." Baiji explained.  Haiwen thought about this for several seconds, then turned back to Zuko.

"How old are you?  Are you related to my Uncle Li?  Or my cousin Li?  Are you my cousin too?"  Haiwen said without pause.

"Er, I'm thirteen." Zuko said.

"Haiwen," Baiji chastised, "we talked about this.  One question at a time, remember?"

"Mommy, when I'm thirteen do I get to sleep all day?" Haiwen asked.  Baiji gave her daughter an unimpressed look, to which Haiwen only smiled.

"Sweet Pea, go outside and tell your father that our guest is awake." Baiji instructed.

"What's wrong with your face?" Haiwen asked, reaching for Zuko's bandages.

"Haiwen, go find your father right now." Baiji snapped, her tone leaving absolutely no room for disagreement.  Haiwen squeaked, and ran out the open door, onto the sunlit fields outside.

Once Baiji had watched Haiwen leave, she turned back to Zuko.

"Sorry about that, we don't have guests very often." Baiji apologized.

"I have a sister." Zuko said.  Baiji got a blank look on her face.  Perhaps she hadn't understood, Zuko's tutors often told him that he didn't speak with enough clarity, "She's younger than me, and she used to ask rude questions a lot too." Zuko added.  He neglected to mention that Azula still asked rude questions.  

Baiji looked away, her eyebrows crinkling together.  She looked unhappy, Zuko wasn't sure what he'd said to make her upset.

"I brought some clothes for you." Baiji said, before Zuko could try to explain himself further. "They might be a bit large, but your clothes are a little," Baiji gestured at Zuko's entire outfit.  He wore his own pants, but rather than a shirt he had Uncle's red outer robes wrapped around his shoulders like a shawl.  

Both the pants and robes were covered in dust, mud, and sweat.  Nothing Zuko wore smelled particularly pleasant either.

Zuko felt his face grow hot, he hadn't even noticed the state of his clothes.  His sister would have made fun of him for looking like this, and their father definitely would have - Zuko cut that thought off, digging his fingernails into his palms.

"Thank you." he said, in a far sharper tone than he'd intended.  He cleared his throat, "Where can I get dressed?"  Baiji looked worried, but showed him to her and Tingbi's bedroom, saying that he could change his clothes there.

The clothes were like nothing Zuko had worn before.  A long brown tunic that fell to his knees, and the sleeves fell past his elbows.  It was clearly far too big for him, and he suspected it belonged to Baiji.  Little leaves were embroidered along the neckline and on the bottoms of the sleeves in green thread.

The pants were dark gray, and extremely baggy on Zuko.  He rolled up the bottoms of the pants legs several times.  Thankfully Baiji had thought to give him a long fabric belt, which Zuko wound around his waist twice and tied in a knot.  

The fabric of his new clothes was rougher than that of any of his old clothes, and the pants were fraying in places.

He found Baiji sitting in the main room, reading a scroll.  Zuko carried his old clothes, bunched up in his hands.

"What do I do with these?" He asked.  Baiji glanced up.

"Oh, hang them over the fence out back.  We'll wash the with the rest." She said.

Zuko hoped that she didn't actually mean to include him in the "we" that would be washing clothes.  It wasn't that he didn't think he could do it, how hard could doing the laundry be anyway?  

The problem was that he'd never actually done his own laundry, and did not look forward to admitting that he had no idea how to wash his clothes to Baiji, or worse yet, Tingbi.

Outside, the day was sunny and warm.  Zuko hadn't been able to see much the previous night, but now he could see that Baiji and Tinbi's home sat between some grassy hills, and a cliff which overlooked the sea.  The house sat on a narrow strip of flat land.  

A small flock of pig-sheep were out in a fenced pasture near the barn, and a few pig-chickens wandered around clucking and snorting.

Zuko circled around the back of the house, and found the fence.  It would be hard to miss the low wooden fence, surrounding a small vegetable plot, with clothing hanging all along its length.  There were tunics, trousers, and skirts hanging in the sun.  

There were also a wide variety of underclothes hanging on the fence, which Zuko couldn't quite believe anyone would just leave out in the open.

He quickly found an empty spot on the fence, and hung his pants and Uncle's robes over the top bar of the fence.  He found Uncle's other clothes already hanging on the fence.

Zuko began walking back to the house, but paused when he heard Uncle's voice from around the other side of the house.  Zuko crept along the side of the house, bare feet making little noise on the damp grass.

"-and with children in the house at that?" Uncle said.  Zuko didn't catch the first portion of what was said.

"Don't you tell me how to care for my family old man." Tingbi said, sounding frustrated.  "You might have been somebody a few days ago, but toady you're living under my roof, being fed and clothed because of Baiji's and my generosity."

Zuko stopped, crouching near the corner of the house.  Uncle and Tingbi stood just around the corner.

"You heard the guards this morning, if anyone learns of what you've done, do you think your children will be spared?" Uncle asked.

"We know the risks." Tingbi said, "We didn't join up without knowing the dangers.  Don't lecture me on putting children in danger you hypocritical snake."

A long silence followed.  Zuko grit his teeth, no one called Uncle such names.  Back home, Tingbi would have been taken away by the guards the moment he raised his voice to Uncle.

"It has been a very long time since anyone argued with me." Uncle said.  Zuko waited for Uncle to strike back, get back at this ignorant peasant for talking to him in such an improper, and insulting way.  "It's something I've missed."  

Zuko crept closer to the corner, convinced he must have misheard something.

"Don't expect the royal treatment old man." Tingbi said, sounding significantly less angry, "We're equals here, truth and camaraderie without regard for birth and all that." Zuko got the impression Tingbi was trying to quote someone, though Zuko didn't recognize the words at all.

"Without regard for birthright or nation." Uncle echoed.  Tingbi barked an unhappy laugh.

"It's not like you've got either." Tingbi added.  Zuko couldn't believe anyone would speak to Uncle this way, but he felt equally confused as to what they were talking about.  It made no sense.

"My nephew is alive, I have no regrets for what I've done." Uncle said.

"It's your head on the line." Tingbi said.

"And yours and your wife's as well." Zuko could hear footsteps approaching his hiding spot.  There was nowhere to hide.  

The house sat in a field without trees or bushes, the barn was too far away, the fence where the clothes hung didn't provide enough cover.  If he sprinted back to the front door he'd surely be heard.

"Ah, my dear nephew is finally away." Uncle said, rounding the corner.  He did not sound pleased.  Zuko froze, heart drumming in his ears.  Tingbi followed Uncle.

"Kids." Tingbi sighed.

"Uncle?" Zuko asked, "What have you done?" something approaching horror was gnawing its way through his chest.  Uncle had done something terrible, Zuko needed answers.

"Old man, why don't you take Li out for a walk." Tingbi suggested.  By the time Zuko noticed the incorrect name, Tingbi was walking away. "I need to go clean the barn."  The excuse was obvious, even to Zuko.

"I supposed it is time we talked."  Uncle said, guiding Zuko away from the house by the arm.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Making up names is not my strong suite, there might be some pretty funky OC names going forward.

**Author's Note:**

> This is like the fifth draft of this chapter, and I'm still not really happy with it. It's difficult to imagine what a character like Iroh would do in a sudden emergency, and I'm not quite sure I'm writing the right kind of voice for him. I've got some later chapters written, but I've got to go back and write all the beginning leading up to that, and they're not coming easy. Please leave reviews, comments, or criticism - I'm trying to improve here so any criticism is very welcome.


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